Blood Brothers
by Shellecah
Summary: Matt gets it again and gets up wounded for more gunplay vs. vengeful brothers. A journalist tells the tale with the first-person voices of Matt, Chester, Doc, Kitty, Jonas, Ma Smalley, and the one who shoots Matt. Chapter Two casts light on the journalist himself and his attraction to Kitty as he pays a sick visit to Doc and asks the marshal and Chester meddlesome questions.
1. Chapter 1

_Rem Weston, Journalist, Dodge City Times_

Shot in the chest by mute bandit Tyrone Devlin, our brave marshal rose from bed as his wound seeped blood and faced off with Tyrone's big brother Riley, who lies fresh buried on Boot Hill as the ink flows from my pen. Here's how it played out.

Mr. Jonas was making a deposit at Dodge Bank when Holt, middle boy of the Devlin clan, walked in and yelled, _"Get yer hands up high, all of ya! This is a holdup!"_

"Let me tell you, Mr. Weston," says Jonas. "I didn't stand there long enough to put _my_ hands up, _no_ , sir. I got the deuce out and run fast to the marshal's office.

"The marshal said, 'Jonas. What is it?'

"And I gasped, 'A robbery. At the bank. Man's there now with his gun out.' "

When I asked our valiant lawman if his worthy assistant, Chester Goode, rushed at the marshal's side into danger to defend the townsfolk from pillage, he said, "No. Chester's ready to back me when I need 'im, but I told him to stay at the office.

"When I got to the bank," says Marshal Dillon, "I flattened against the front wall outside near the corner of the building and drew my gun. I edged to the window and looked quick inside to get the lay of it. Holt Devlin held three money sacks in one hand, his gun in the other, and he was retreating to the doors.

"He backed onto the walk, and I drew a bead on him and said, _'Hold it.'_ He turned fast, raising his gun at me, and I shot him. He bled out; it soaked his shirt and vest in spurts, so I knew there was no point having him carried to Doc."

At my request, mute Tyrone wrote of his role in this grim tale while he sat in jail awaiting trial for shooting the marshal. "Brother Riley heard tell from a drifter that Dillon shot brother Holt dead," Tyrone writes. "Riley told me, 'You go to Dodge, Tyrone, and kill that marshal. Send me a telegram when it's done.'

"May was away from our homestead visiting her parents at the time. May's our hired woman, or was before Dillon killed Holt and Riley, and she had the care of my little girl, as Callie's ma died birthing the child.

"I can't talk, so wrote on a slate asking Riley to take care of Callie while I rode to Dodge. Her being just eight years, I didn't want her with me in harm's way when I went gunnin' for Dillon. Riley said, 'I got somewhat to do that'll use all my time a spell, and I can't have the young 'un underfoot. You take her with you on the stage.' Riley never done any farm work or such unless he had to, so I knew he hadn't nothing to do, but wouldn't trouble himself caring for the child."

Mrs. "Ma" Smalley says, "Callie is bright and keen beyond her years, a little lady and dear child. Her father paid me well to care for her while he stayed at Dodge House. When I asked Callie why he wouldn't board with her, she turned her large brown eyes to his narrow dark ones.

"Tyrone Devlin has long eyes like needles that slant a bit. He laid his hand over his heart, touched her face and shook his head, and the little girl said, 'Pa says I'm safer here, away from him, and he wants me under woman's care.'

"Now, I know a gunman when I see one, Mr. Weston," says Ma. "I always say the breed is nothing but trouble. But I also know love when I see it, and this man loves his daughter. There's just no way that motherless little girl come up so fine unless someone taught her. I'm guessing it's her pa, for all he'd do better to practice what he preaches the child."

Holding his gun at the ready, Tyrone headed to the marshal's office, and called Dillon out with forceful gesticulation. "Tyrone has a big scar 'crost his throat," says Chester. "Like as not, he was slashed to once."

Now, if anyone knows a thing about Matt Dillon, that lady or gent will assure you that the marshal's heart is as merciful as it is courageous. He'd hate to draw on a man so afflicted.

"Mr. Dillon tried to tell Tyrone his brother Holt's killing was self-defense, but Tyrone set his head on gunplay, and Mr. Dillon jest couldn't turn 'im from it," Chester explains.

"I tried to refuse," says the marshal. "I said, 'I'm not gonna fight you, Devlin.'

Says Chester, "If Mr. Dillon aimed true, he would've saved hisself gettin' shot and most killed. He warn't called upon to give his life sparin' the young 'un's feelings."

Chester said that in front of the marshal, and I thrilled with the sensation of it all when Dillon turned a furrowed brow on his partner. Your attentive journalist scribbled with a rapt ear.

"Chester, I couldn't kill the child's father with her watching," said the marshal. "I didn't set out to sacrifice myself. I shot at Tyrone's shoulder, but my aim was wide and the bullet missed him."

"You wanted that bullet to miss, on account of Callie," said Chester.

Miss Kitty Russell took Callie out that day, as Ma was busy with strangers passing through Dodge at the spring thaw. "I didn't mind taking care of Callie awhile," says Miss Kitty. "She's a sweet, well-behaved little girl. I bought her a doll with a china face and some pink stick candy at Jonas's store, and was walking with her to Grimmick's livery, so we could take a buggy ride.

"We held hands and she chattered, but not like children her age usually do. Callie's real smart. She said she lived with her pa and his brothers before Marshal Dillon killed her Uncle Holt for robbing the bank, and the hired woman helped with the care of her and teaching her ladies' ways.

"I told her, I said, 'Marshal Dillon didn't shoot your uncle 'cause he robbed the bank, Callie. He was gonna shoot first, so the marshal had to kill him to save his own life.'

"And she said, 'That's not how my pa made out it happened, Miss Kitty, but I believe your telling. Me and my pa love each other; he does bad things, though. I'm moving out away from him soon as I'm big enough.'

"Callie and I were walking Front Street," says Miss Kitty, "when we saw Matt come out of the office into the street. Tyrone Devlin was behind him, pointing a gun at him, and Chester walked alongside Matt.

"Callie screamed, _'Pa, no!.'_ She was hugging her new doll, running to her pa.

"And I screamed, _'Callie, wait! Callie, stop!'_ , and ran after her.

"Then, Matt said, _'Chester,'_ and Chester hurried to Callie and picked her up before she reached her pa.

"Matt said, 'Take her inside. You too, Kitty.' "

"And Callie said, 'Pa, please don't shoot Marshal Dillon,' but her pa just ignored her.

"Chester and I moved to the door, walking backward so we could see what went on. Matt and Devlin paced off and faced each other, and Devlin holstered his gun for the draw. Callie screamed, _'Nooo!'_ and started sobbing. She sure knew what a gunfight was. I shudder to think what she's seen in her life. She screamed, _'Don't Marshal Dillon, please! Don't kill my pa!' S_ he held her doll dangling by its arm while Chester carried her.

"Then Matt shouted, _'I said take the child inside!'_

"We went in the marshal's office and closed the door. Chester handed Callie to me, and I sat at the table with her in my lap, while Chester watched Matt and Devlin through the window.

"Well . . . Callie got away from me." Miss Kitty paused, touched her palm to her chest, shrugged and sighed. I asked if I could fetch her some water, but she said no, she was alright.

"She . . . Callie . . . dropped her doll and bolted through the doorway," recollects Miss Kitty. "Chester tried to catch her, but she leaped out of reach."

Says Marshal Dillon, "When the other man's hand hovers over his gun, if you shift your eyes from him, you're dead. I heard the door open and the child's shoes against the walk, and I knew she was seeing it. I heard Kitty's and Chester's steps . . . and then Devlin drew. I aimed in that heartbeat for his shoulder instead of his chest, only I shot wide and missed him."

As you may imagine, readers, I stared spellbound into the marshal's eyes. "He shot you, sir," I said. "What was that like."

"Gettin' shot?" said the marshal. "Doc said the bullet lodged below my heart. If Devlin had lifted his gun a speck higher, I'd be dead. It's a searing pain that doesn't ease for one breath, and the more you bleed, the harder it is to suck in breath. The gasping makes it hurt more. Felt like my belly and chest were afire. It was a mercy when I blacked out. I didn't think I'd wake up again. When I did, Doc had removed the bullet, and my friends were there. Chester and Kitty. In Doc's room."

Says Chester, "I couldn't let Devlin git away, so I done a troublesome thing, for all it was needful."

"You did the right thing, Chester," said the marshal. "You did a good job."

"I jest wish ma head would ease outa the doin' of it," says Chester.

Then Doc spoke. He was there at this particular interview with the marshal and Chester, though Doc hadn't said much. He seemed to take a wry amusement in telling me he dozed through most of the interview.

"It's over, Chester, and all's well," said Doc. "Matt's mended; he's back to himself."

"I knowed Miss Kitty could call to some men passin' ta carry Mr. Dillon to Doc's," Chester says. "And she wouldn't stray a step from Mr. Dillon's side. If he was alive. I thought he was dead . . . maybe, and I most had to commence mournin'." Chester's voice had gone husky, and his eyes shimmered.

"Little Callie, she needed carin' straightaway, too. She stood weepin', scared and lost like on the walk, while her pa holstered his gun after shootin' Mr. Dillon.

"I set ma mind to it, went fast in the office and grabbed a shotgun. I run back out, and Devlin is walkin' so maddening easy to where Mr. Dillon was layin', I calculate to see if he was dead. Miss Kitty was on her knees beside him, holdin' his hand."

The intimacies between the marshal and Miss Kitty are known around Dodge, discreet though they are. "I thought Matt was dying," says Miss Kitty, her voice quavering. Her lovely blue eyes filled, and she pulled a handkerchief from her purse. "I've seen friends . . . family . . . die," she says. "You lean close and search for them in their eyes, like looking through a dark window, and they . . . recede . . . from you 'til you can't see them anymore, and you know they're gone. Matt's hand was warm and strong around mine . . . like he was protecting, reassuring me, but he was leaving me, he couldn't help it."

Most of us know Miss Kitty, readers, and how charming she is, how entrancing her smile when one has the privilege of meeting her in passing. So think how sweet and fragile she looked as she related to me the account of her fallen marshal while dabbing droplets from her eyes.

Naturally, I was moved to comfort her, to touch that little gloved hand, only the independent air surrounding her forbade me. I could see her determined will in her straight back and squared shoulders, and the set of her chin.

"I didn't forget Callie," Miss Kitty says. "She needed us; I just had to help Matt first. I hoped Chester would attend Callie; then I saw him with the shotgun. Now I had him to worry about. I was scared Tyrone Devlin would shoot Chester, too.

"I jumped up to run find some men to carry Matt to Doc's, and smacked hard into Devlin. I was so caught up with Matt, I didn't see Devlin comin' up on us.

"He took hold of my shoulders to steady me from falling, like not thinking about it, and I slapped him. I don't think it riled him. His eyes looked hard and sad at the same time. Then I heard the shotgun hammer click, and Chester was there not five paces away."

Says Chester, "I said, _'Don't move.'_ Devlin froze still, and I tole him git his hands up, and he did. I heard poor little Callie cryin' from the walkway; she was smart 'nough to stay put and not scream no more 'til a grown person saw to her.

"Miss Kitty run off to git the men to move Mr. Dillon ta Doc's. I had to rid Devlin of his six-gun; I was holdin' the shotgun, though, and he mighta took ahold on it if I reached for his gun."

Two brawny farmers ran up then with Miss Kitty. She found them quickly, to carry the marshal. "One a them farmers knowed direct what ta do 'bout Devlin," Chester says. "The farmer said, 'I'll get his gun, Chester,' and snatched Devlin's gun out the holster, snake fast as ever Mr. Dillon coulda done. The farmer stuck the gun in his belt, and give it to me later after Devlin was locked safe behind bars."

The farmers picked Marshal Dillon up and headed for Doc's. Miss Kitty says, "I wanted to tell Chester to take care of Callie, but thought I best not say anything to 'im. He had to keep his wits about him while he locked Devlin in jail.

"Then Chester said, 'I'll mind Callie, Miss Kitty,' and set my mind at ease as to the child, anyway, so I could stay with Matt."

Chester told Callie to come inside the marshal's office. "I didn't want her to see her pa go in the cell at gunpoint," Chester explains. "I couldn't leave her standin' by her lonesome in the cold, though, or send her on her own to Ma Smalley's. I figured Ma might be on an errand, as Miss Kitty said the boarders filled Ma's time that day.

"When I locked Devlin in the cell," Chester says, "he took hold the bars and looked at me, like holdin' me there with his eyes. I knew he wanted to say somewhat, talkin' with his hands, as he could make nary a sound. He pointed behind me, and put both hands over his heart. I looked to where he's pointin', and Callie was standin' there.

" 'Pa's worried about me,' she said.

"I didn't want to ease her pa with a surety," Chester says. "Not after what he done to Mr. Dillon. I did, though, for Callie's sake. And he . . . well, he loves her.

"So I said, 'I'll walk Callie back to Ma Smalley's, and see there's someone there kin look after her."

Dodge City, our intrepid marshal survived by the Hand of Providence, which guided the capable hands of our own Doc Adams. "Matt's lucky," Doc said. "The bullet missed his heart, lungs and spine. He lost a lot of blood. All I can say is he's a strong man, one of the strongest I ever treated for gunshot that bad."

Tyrone writes, "Riley rode to Dodge City when he got no telegram from me. I reckon he thought the marshal killed me, or I was in jail."

Mr. Jonas says Riley came to his store, asking if Marshal Dillon was alive. "Now, I got a powerful feeling to keep my mouth closed tight on the subject," recollects Jonas. "I didn't know yet this fellow was Tyrone Devlin's brother, but I figured they had an association. I dared not tell him the marshal was shot, 'cause he'd s'pose maybe Tyrone was in jail for the shooting, and get it into his head to bust Tyrone loose, and kill Chester doin' it. So I just said, 'Surely,' when Riley asked if the marshal was alive.

" 'You heard of a man Tyrone Devlin round Dodge?' Riley said.

"I lied and said no," says Jonas.

"I made myself wait five minutes so Riley wouldn't see me leave the store after he left, then ran to the marshal's office."

Chester recalls, "I was practicin' ma cribbage game when Jonas rushed in. It was strange, cuz it all started with Jonas runnin' in, telling how Holt Devlin was holdin' up the bank.

"Jonas said, ' _Chester, get a shotgun, quick.'_

"I jumped up," Chester says, "my heart drummin' so I near had an attack, and my mouth went dry. I recollected how one of the men what carried Mr. Dillon to Doc's disarmed Tyrone on account of I needed two hands to hold the shotgun steady, so this time I got Tyrone's six-gun out the desk drawer wheres I stashed it.

"Jonas said, 'A fella come in the store askin' after Tyrone Devlin, and wanted to know if the marshal's alive. I said I knew nothing about it, but the man will likely come here lookin' for your prisoner in the cell there. You best be careful, Chester!'

"I thanked Jonas and told 'im to go on back to the store," says Chester, "as it warn't safe for him stayin' to the marshal's office.

"Bout ten minutes after Jonas left, I heard boot steps on the walk, and the doorknob turned. I stood and pointed the six-gun at the door. The feller what come in sure 'nough had a likeness to Tyrone. This one looked some older.

"I said, 'Hold it, Mister. Git yer hands up.'

"The feller raised his hands and said 'What the sam hill?' "

Says Chester, "He looked past me into the jail and said, 'Tyrone. I figgered you was in jail when I got no telegram.

"I sidled up on the feller, my eyes stuck on his face like I seen Mr. Dillon do. Then I cocked the gun hammer and said, 'Don't you stir one speck, or I'll blow a hole through your chest.'

"The feller said, 'You mad ass. I ain't done nothin'.'

"I reached down fast and pulled his gun out the holster, then backed away," says Chester. "I asked him, 'What's yer name.' "

" 'Ah, come on,' he said. 'My arms is hurtin' fierce.'

" 'Tell me your name, and you kin lower yer arms,' I said.

"And he said, 'Devlin. Riley Devlin. Tyrone's brother.'

"And I said, 'I thought as much. You can put down yer arms, now.' I put his gun in my belt, and kept Tyrone's gun trained on Riley. He rubbed his arms, and then a cold wind whipped round the door.

"He said, 'Can I close the door?' I nodded. Riley closed the door and said, 'You ain't Marshal Dillon.'

"I said, 'I work for him. Chester Goode.'

"And he said, 'Where's Dillon?'

"I warn't about to tell 'im Mr. Dillon was gunshot bedrid up ta Doc's, cuz Riley would go right on up there where Miss Kitty and Doc was, and Mr. Dillon weak on the mend. So I jest said, 'Mr. Dillon's out.'

"Then Tyrone picked up his water cup and banged the bars, and Riley said, 'Can I talk to my brother?'

"And I said, 'Jest don't git no ideas.'

"Riley said, 'Why you keep holdin' that gun on me. That's agin' the law, 'lessun I _break_ the durn law.' "

Says Chester, "I told Riley, 'You done broke it probable more times than anyone can count. You jest ain't bin caught. You wanna talk to yer little brother, I'm behind with his gun on you.'

"Riley curled his lip, and his eyes glinted up. He said, 'You talk big for a jailkeep, Chester. I think your mouth needs smackin.'

"And I said, 'Well, maybe you need this gun barrel down yer throat.' Riley was some bigger than me," says Chester, " 'ceptin' I growed up higher than him. His lip untwisted, and his face closed off some, then. He looked at me watchful.

"He said, 'I ain't mockin' you none. My brother Tyrone cain't talk.'

"Warn't nothin' I thought ta say to that, so I said nothin'," Chester says.

"Tyrone made like he was fast drawin' a gun, then fell down like he was shot. Then he got up, raised his hand high like he's layin' it atop a tall man's head, thumped his chest with his fist, and stretched his arm out, jabbin' his finger at the door.

"Riley said, 'You outgunned Marshal Dillon?' And Tyrone nodded. Riley said, 'You shot 'im in the chest? But he ain't dead. Where is he, abed at the doc's?' And Tyrone nodded some more.

"Then," Chester says, "Riley said to me, 'Gimme my confounded gun.'

"And I said, 'No.'

"He said, 'You thievin' scarecrow. Well, never mind, I'll buy another.'

"I couldn't let 'im git the jump on Mr. Dillon lyin' in bed, with Miss Kitty and Doc there, too. Like Riley said, he hadn't broke no law, but I set my mind to go against the law and lock him up.

"He said, 'You won't get away with this,' when he seen me take down the jail key. 'I'll bust me and Tyrone outa here and kill you after we kill the marshal.'

"And I said, low an' tight, 'Say that again, I'll bash yer head in.' Riley went quiet like a trapped wolf, eyein' me, and I locked him in the cell with his brother. Then I hightailed it to Doc's ta tell Mr. Dillon."

Marshal Dillon says, "Chester jailed Riley to protect Kitty and Doc and me. I was weak from the bullet wound, but I had to get up and go release Riley, since he wasn't wanted for anything. I couldn't keep him locked up just for threatening me."

Says Doc Adams, shaking his head, "By golly, I steamed up when Matt threw off the blankets and started climbing out of bed. Kitty cried, she was so distressed."

Matt, Chester, Doc and Kitty sat together for the interview about our lawman rising from his bed of affliction while wasted and in pain. A tale so thrilling as this merits many interviews, and from no other source, Dodge City, will you read a more compelling report.

"Now, Doc," said Miss Kitty, "that's not fair to Matt. He couldn't help that I cried."

"Doc," said Chester, "Mr. Dillon was jest—"

"You don't need to tell me Mr. Dillon was just doing anything, Chester," said the good doctor. "I know what Matt was doin'. I was there, remember? He could've bled to death walking to the marshal's office with an open hole right under his _heart_.

"How you managed to outdraw that Riley fella, Matt, and you shaky enough to pass out any minute, I'll never know.

"How did it affect you, my dear," I said to Miss Kitty. "Seeing your marshal, your own, ready himself in his frail condition to face the man bent on vengeance for the death of his brother. Do tell our readers."

Doc snorted amusement, and Marshal Dillon shifted restively, crossing his ankle on his knee and slapping his hat against his boot. _"Weston,"_ said the marshal, and I noted his omission of the honorific.

"Forgive me, Marshal," said I. "I do get carried away."

"Miss Kitty cain't tell your readers direct, Mr. Weston," Chester contributed. "They ain't here." The doctor snorted more silent laughter, and Dillon grinned.

"That's alright, Chester," said Miss Kitty. "Let me tell.

"I said, _'Matt, no. You can't. Doc. Chester. Stop him.'_ And I did cry, then. I couldn't help it; I was so scared for Matt."

"I'm sorry, Kitty," said the marshal. "I did what I had to do."

"Oh, Matt," said Miss Kitty. "You don't need to keep apologizing. I understand, and it all turned for the best. Riley and Holt are dead, and Tyrone's in prison. They can't hurt you now, or anyone in town."

" 'Twas thrice, maybe," Chester said absently. "Mr. Dillon's apologies." He was fiddling with a thin length of fancy silken rope he'd pulled from his pocket.

"You don't need to say that, Chester," said Doc.

"Say what," said Chester.

My interview was going adrift. "Doc?" I said. "Did you or Chester try and stop the marshal from getting out of bed?"

Doc says, "You can't stop Matt once he decides to do something. You can talk him _into_ something; Chester can, anyway. But you can't stop Matt doing anything."

"A man's not worth much who doesn't know his own mind," said the marshal.

He recalls, "I told Chester to wait with Kitty at Doc's, but Chester set his mouth and said, 'No. I'm goin' with you.'

"I hadn't the strength to bicker," says Dillon, "so I just said, 'Alright, Chester.'

"Kitty was crying near hysterics, and I looked back at her as I opened the door. She held her hands to her mouth with the fingers curled, and Doc had his arms around her.

" 'I'm sorry, Kitty.' That's what I said," Marshal Dillon recounts. "And 'I want you to be strong.'

"Kitty stopped crying then, nodded and lifted her chin. Her face was all wet with her tears.

"I opened the door and started downstairs from Doc's rooms, heading for the jail," says the marshal. "My chest burned and throbbed, and the bandage felt warm as the wound trickled blood. I held the rail tight and descended slow, as my limbs felt heavy and awkward, and I was light-headed. Chester followed on the stairs close behind me.

"My boot slipped over a step and thumped hard on the next step, and I stumbled. Chester gripped my shoulders and steadied me, his breath wafting on the back of my head, and I made it to the ground.

" 'You cain't come outa no gunfight alive like this,' Chester almost whispered.

"I said, 'Don't compose my epitaph just yet, Chester. Holt Devlin wasn't a fast draw, and Tyrone isn't, either. He only got me 'cuz I shot wide deliberate so Callie wouldn't see her pa die. I'm guessin' Riley might not be fast with a gun, either.'

"Chester didn't answer," says Marshal Dillon, "and after a minute, I heard him sniffle. I looked at him, and he was swiping at his eyes.

"I told him, 'I need you to help Doc look after Kitty. She'll take things better if both of you are with her.' Chester sniffled again, and I said, 'Go on back to Doc's, Chester.'

" 'No,' he said."


	2. Chapter 2

_Part 2_

Our dauntless lawman's wound pained him worse as he trudged to the jail with Chester at his side. "My chest was a hot knot of pain," says Marshal Dillon, "and it was spreading, like knives stabbing out from the bullet hole. Doc was giving me morphine, but I wouldn't take any before I went to turn Riley Devlin loose from jail. Keeping a clear head was hard enough without morphine makin' me dull.

"Chester looked close at me every few steps. I figure he expected me to collapse. He was acting tender, and I wished he'd stayed at Doc's. When we were almost to the office, he said, _'The wound's bleedin', Mr. Dillon! Yer shirt's soaked!.'_

"I didn't answer. I wouldn't look at my shirt.

"Then Chester said, 'I'll come up stealthy on Riley from behind, and when he goes for 'is gun, I'll blow his head off."

"I said, 'You'd never shoot a man from the back.' My voice sounded reedy to my ears, and I was some breathless from the blood loss.

"Chester said, 'I don't hate it, now. I jest want Riley dead. I wanna shoot 'im dead.'

"I'm fightin' 'im fair, Chester," I said.

"And Chester argued, 'It's not a fair fight. You're most dead.' His voice caught on the last word.

"Riley and Tyrone were sitting on the bed in the jail cell, leaning back against the wall when Chester and I got to the office. The brothers jumped up and took hold of the bars when they saw us. Tyrone pointed at me," the marshal says, "and nodded vigorously at his brother.

"Riley said, 'I know.'

"He said to me, 'You killed Holt.'

"And I said, 'I had to.'

" 'You can't keep me locked up here, Marshal,' said Riley. 'Like I told the jailkeep, I done nothin'.'

"I took the jail key off the peg, and unlocked the door. 'If you have any sense, Devlin, you'll get out of Dodge, now,' I said. 'You call me out, and I'll kill ya.'

"Riley grinned. 'I calculate not,' he said. 'You're mighty poorly, Marshal. I'll finish easy what my little brother started.'

"Chester said, his voice shaking, 'We didn't give your gun back yet, Devlin. Hold your tongue, or I'll pick a shotgun offen the wall there and shoot you dead right here.'

" 'Chester,' I said. 'Give 'im his gun.'

"And Riley said, 'You give me the gun, Marshal. Your flunky's lunatic. He'll kill me.'

" 'Chester,' I said. Chester got Riley's gunbelt and handed it to him.

"Riley strapped on the belt, smiling, and taunted, 'How about it, Marshal? You got the gizzard?'

"I said, 'You're a fool, Devlin. Why don't you just leave town?'

"He said, 'I will. After I kill you.'

"I went out in the street, and Devlin and Chester followed. Riley paced off from me and planted his boots apart.

"Chester trailed next to me in the street, and I said, 'Move out of the way, Chester.' He moved to the walkway and took hold of a post, watching.

"Strangely, the pain in my chest seemed to flood me with strength and sweep the grogginess from my head. My muscles felt like supple wires. I heaved in the chill clean air, and my breathing slowed easy.

"Riley stiffened, his shoulders jerking forward as he went for his gun. I drew and fired at his chest. His body jolted rigid, then he pitched forward on his face in the dirt dampened by spring rains, his fingers wrapped around the butt of his gun still in the holster.

"I slowly walked to Riley's body, the wound in my own chest pulsing like a second heart. Chester hurried to the body, bent over Devlin, and turned him over. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his mouth parted.

" 'Dead,' said Chester in wonderment, staring at Riley's face. Chester straightened up and said with an awed look, 'He's dead, Mr. Dillon. Heavens, I never been so scared. I thought he'd git you. I thought you'd die.'

"I knew I'd kill Riley Devlin," Marshal Dillon says. "I felt no fear, no doubt. I couldn't explain to Chester, so I didn't try.

"Of a sudden, I wanted to see Kitty. The strength streamed out of me faster than it had flowed in, and my knees buckled.

"Chester put his arm around me, and draped my arm over his shoulder. 'We'll get you to Doc, Mr. Dillon,' he said.

" 'Devlin's body,' I said.

"Chester's eyes roved the walkway. Two cowboys stood a short ways from the marshal's office. They looked dazed, like they'd witnessed the shooting, and I put their faces to remembrance.

"Chester called to them, 'Will you carry that corpse to the undertaker?'

"One of the men said, 'That carcass right yonder what the marshal just kilt?'

"And Chester said, 'The same. If ya will? We'd be obliged.'

"The cowboy said, 'Surely.'

"I leaned heavily on Chester, and we were almost to Doc's when we saw Kitty coming downstairs from Doc's office. Doc followed her out, and watched from the landing.

"Kitty paused on the stairs as she sighted me and Chester, then she ran to us and hugged me. I embraced her with my left arm, as my right was slung over Chester's shoulders.

"Kitty pulled back, and said, _'Matt. You're drenched in blood.'_

" 'I'm sorry, Kitty,' I said. 'I had no time to warn you.' That wasn't exactly true. I just didn't think of it, more like. 'Your cloak,' I said. 'Your dress.'

"Kitty said, 'Oh, I don't care about the clothes,' smiling and crying at the same time. 'Let me help,' she said. She put her arms around me and walked at my left side, while Chester supported me on my other side.

"Doc left the landing to go inside, and I knew he was readying to tend me," says Marshal Dillon.

Now, as you read earlier in this narrative, Tyrone Devlin went to prison, so what became of his daughter, Callie? Says Ma Smalley, "She told me she has an aunt, her late mother's sister, married to a professor who lectures at the University of Virginia. Callie's aunt and uncle have three young 'uns. I sent the lady a telegram, and she wired sending for Callie to come live with them."

I wager, readers, that one scene of a little girl weeping over her outlaw father is enough for any story, so I'll spare you the melodrama of the child crying in her pa's arms before leaving town in the care of her aunt, by all accounts a capable, affectionate lady.

I visited Miss Kitty at the Long Branch, to inquire how she fared after the shock of seeing her beloved marshal shot down in the street, then hurling himself once more to the precipice of death, the blood from his last gunfight still oozing from his chest. As the marshal and Miss Kitty have manifested precious little of their regard for each other about town, we can only speculate that they are beloved one of another, as talk swirls like rose petals on the spring breeze.

"Oh," says Miss Kitty, smiling at me, "I'm _well_ over that, Mr. Weston. Matt's so strong, he heals better than before he was hurt, and he always mends fast. He faces danger all the time. He _will_ wear the badge, so I'm not pining about it."

"I see," I said. "You do have an enchanting pair of blue eyes, Miss Kitty. None can be more gorgeous in all Kansas."

"Thank you," said Miss Kitty.

"May I assume that your attachment to the marshal allows for dalliance from other men?" said I.

"You may assume whatever you want," said Miss Kitty brightly, her pretty smiling face laughing at me, though she didn't giggle aloud. "I'd like to buy you a drink, if that answers your question."

"Oh, you are witty, Miss Kitty," I said, chuckling. We sparked a bit, and she let me take her exquisite soft hand, and when I asked if I could kiss her, she tilted her head and looked at me, considering. Women like me, my looks anyway, as most who've met me can attest, and I felt quite bold and sure.

As we rested against the bar, I took off my hat and leaned toward her. With her red hair, blue eyes and fair skin, Miss Kitty's face was like a flower, like a rose or bluebottle, or a lily.

Her perfect mouth filled my vision, and then I nearly jumped out of my skin as the marshal's voice, hardy and louder than usual, sounded in my ears. "Kitty," he said.

Miss Kitty pulled away from me. _"Matt,"_ she said. She was right about the marshal's health. I saw at first glance he was fully recovered.

"Kitty," Marshal Dillon repeated, tipping his hat.

"Weston," he said. "You got some free time on your hands, do ya. You must've finished your story on the Devlins."

"I—" I cleared my throat. "I've a few . . . flourishes . . . to write before it goes to the typesetter. I best be about it. Good day, Marshal," I said, putting on my hat. "Miss Kitty."

"Mr. Weston," said Miss Kitty. "Come by and see me any time. I enjoyed our visit."

"Yes, quite," I said. I stepped lively across the saloon floor and through those batwings, readers, let me tell you.

Shortly after my Long Branch visit, your poor journalist came down with the quinsy, and went to see Doc. "Ya know, Rem," said Doc, peering down my inflamed throat, "handsome gentleman such as yourself, could bode well for Kitty and Matt's friendship."

Which, of course, was the last thing I wanted. "How so?" I whispered hoarsely.

"Well," said Doc, his fingers pressing my swollen neck, "I'd hoped that when Matt almost died in front of Kitty in that gunfight with the Devlin boy, then left bed with the bullet fresh dug out for more gunplay with his brother. . . well, I'd hoped that'd bring Matt closer to Kitty.

"It didn't?" I whispered.

"It did 'til Matt mended and went back to work," said Doc, sliding a thermometer under my tongue. "Woman like Kitty—independent, spirited—dandified fellow like yourself might just turn her head.

"I'm gonna heat some cider vinegar with honey and lemon juice in water for you to drink. Mix yourself two mugs a day until the soreness goes and you're healed."

"Doc," I rasped, "Did the marshal and Miss Kitty talk to you about me sparkin' her at the Long Branch? I know the three of you are friends."

"Word does get around," said Doc. "When it happens at the Long Branch, particular." As I sipped the warm drink, he rubbed oil of peppermint on my throat, and wrapped a length of cotton soaked in the vinegar around my neck.

"I don't understand," I said, with the irritability of the infirm. "How can my attentions to Miss Kitty bode well for her friendship with the marshal? I should think it'd be the opposite."

Doc put a calming hand on my shoulder. "Not necessarily," he said. "Kitty's very fond of Marshal Dillon. And if you make 'im jealous, he'll likely keep more company with her, so she won't entertain eligible suitors such as yourself."

"Jealous?" I whispered.

"It's alright." The doctor patted me soothingly. "Matt's too well bred to thrash the competition.

"You'll need to have 'em out. After your fever goes down and the throat's all better. Your tonsils."

"Ahhrgh . . . ." I shook my head.

"It's a simple operation," said Doc. "Stay abed awhile. Get as much rest as you can."

"Doc," I said, "I know you said all that about the marshal and Miss Kitty to scare me out of courting her. You don't want a third player complicating their friendship.

"Did it work?" said Doc.

"Yes," I said, scrubbing my fingertips through my hair. "And I'm sick."

Doc patted me some more. "Don't worry," he said.

I hope, ladies and gentlemen, that this gossipy enhancement to my tale, coupled with the emotional peril while ill of your own journalist, titillates your sensibilities. While conducting my interviews, a lively absorption in the relations of Miss Kitty, Doc, Chester and Marshal Dillon captured me, which greatly surpassed my interest in the two-bit Devlin bandits and Callie, for as we know, folks, the world abounds in just such sweet little girls as Callie.

In my meanderings around Dodge, I happened to see Chester at Delmonico's at lunchtime, about to take a seat. He was by himself, and I seized the opportunity to question him without his friends present. I asked if I could join him, as since he played a vital role in the Devlin story, my readers might think Chester a person of distinction, and so would want to know more about him.

"Waal, there ain't any much to know 'bout me," said Chester. "But you can join me if you want to.

"Most folks in town know me a'ready," he said as we sat at a table. "They know I ain't important at all, 'cept I work for Mr. Dillon."

"You're modest, Chester," I said. "You're a brave and loyal friend and assistant to the marshal. People like reading about men like you."

"Naah." Chester waved at me and grinned a little, his face flushing. "I done nothin' Mr. Dillon wouldn't do fer me."

The waiter came with a tray of water and coffee to our table. Chester ordered chicken and biscuits with gravy, and I chose beef stew and johnnycake.

"I'm curious as to why the marshal hasn't given you a badge," I said. "You do a sight more to help him beside being a jailkeeper, seems to me. You ever ask him to deputize you?"

"Cain't recollect if I did or not," said Chester. "I don't wear a six-gun."

"I gathered from our interviews that you have no problem using a gun when you have to," I said.

I do shotgun backup for Mr. Dillon, betimes," he said.

"Then why don't you wear a six-shooter? You slow on the draw?"

"I cain't draw fast on account of my infirmity," Chester said matter-of-factly, sipping coffee.

"Oh. I beg your pardon," I said. "I should not have asked."

"No need beggin' pardon," he said easily. "It don't distress me none to talk of it."

"But you don't often?"

"I got no reason to," said Chester. "It don't stop me doin' ma job. People help me all the time, Mr. Weston. Mr. Dillon, particular. Seems brazen for a body to take on about hisself in the public print, but if I make a sayin' for your story, I wanna thank Mr. Dillon, and Doc and Miss Kitty and the townsfolk. For helpin' me."

Friends, I must pen some aftermath words from the man himself, Matt Dillon. I found him at the marshal's office, sitting with a cup of coffee at hand at the desk, and leafing through a stack of wanted posters while Chester tidied up.

"I don't know as there's anything much left to tell you about the Devlins, Rem," said the marshal. "I think I covered it all in our other interviews."

I was warmed through when he called me by my first name, overcome for a bit, and tried not to grin like a jester.

"I see you're over the quinsy," said the marshal. "Doc told us you were down with it."

"Yes, I'm very well, thank you," I said. "Doc wants my tonsils out, but I haven't the courage. You've made a remarkable recovery, yourself."

"Thanks," he said.

"Set?" said Chester, pulling out a chair. "We have coffee fresh made if you want some."

"I will. I'd like you to sit with me, too, Chester. You may have somewhat to contribute to the marshal's thoughts, as his assistant," I said.

"There's something you can make clear to me, Rem," said the marshal, as Chester poured coffee for me and himself, and refilled Dillon's cup.

"If I can," I said.

"When I killed Holt Devlin, the report came out in the Times three days later. And when Tyrone shot me, the story was in the next edition. Same with the Riley gunfight. Holt and Riley been buried a spell, and Tyrone had his trial and gone to the State Penitentiary."

"And you want to know why I'm taking much longer to print my story," I said. "The reports you refer to are just that, Marshal. Facts. Enlivened with some harmless embellishment to interest our readers. I'm assigned to write special stories of the season. My accounts are more full-bodied, with depth and dramatic force."

I paused to sip my coffee. "And they must say something profound," I said pensively. "That's why I'm visiting you gentlemen."

"Well, we'll help if we can," said Marshal Dillon. "I don't know how, though. It's all been said."

"Doc said he hoped that what you suffered would bring you closer to Miss Kitty," I ventured.

"Kitty and I were already good friends before all this happened," said the marshal.

"Yes, of course," I said. "I think Doc meant . . . in the way of courtship."

"Rem, it's no secret in Dodge that Kitty and I keep company," said the marshal. "Doc's bein' protective."

"You mean, so I won't hound in?" I said.

"Not just you," said Dillon. "Kitty's a beautiful, successful woman, and she's vivacious. She has a lot of suitors."

"The town is well aware of that," I said. "What I can't understand is why you don't—" I clamped my lips shut then, and friends, you can guess why. Our marshal's eyes chilled as he grew impatient with my meddling.

"Doc Adams is a fine doctor," I said, thinking it wise to change the subject.

"The best," said the marshal.

"What was it like being bedridden," I said. "Did Doc impart to you any sagacious advice?"

"It's powerful wearisome, is what it is," said Chester, with wide-eyed earnestness. "I been bedrid ta Doc's enough times to know. He jest tells you what you cain't do 'til yer mended, and what you haveta do once you are."

"Like every good doctor," I said with a laugh.

"Doc's full of homilies," said the marshal, grinning. "I think Chester summed it up."

"Chester," I said, "How are you feeling about your Mr. Dillon deliberately shooting wide in the fight with Tyrone Devlin, thereby suffering the bullet wound that nearly killed our marshal. I recollect you showed some emotion about it. Have you forgiven him?"

Chester stared at me a moment while he absorbed my meaning, then tensed in distress. "I never held that against him," he said.

"Seems to me, you did, Chester," I said.

"I did not," said Chester. "I never held that against you, Mr. Dillon."

"I know you didn't, Chester," said the marshal.

"I wouldn't count for much at all if I faulted Mr. Dillon for bein' soft-hearted," said Chester. "He missed his target purposeful, so's little Callie wouldn't see her pa die. He made a noble sacrifice. I calculate Tyrone's muteness had somewhat to do with it, too."

"Now, don't take on, Chester," said the marshal, shifting in his chair and coloring a little. "It wasn't that much. I didn't set out to sacrifice myself and get shot. I shot at Devlin's shoulder, but my aim was off, so I missed."

"Your aim is never off," said Chester.

And so, Dodge City, we conclude our narrative with that tribute to Matt Dillon from his steadfast friend. As I take my leave and walk to the Times office while a crisp wind buffets me, the sun shines through clouds drifting apart like tufts of dove feathers mottled gray and white, heralding warmer days.


End file.
